


Box of Darkness

by KaelsMiscellany



Series: The Long Road [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief, Peter has feels, and does NOT like it, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8436847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: Peter didn't expect to find Lydia at his front door, demanding to be fixed, not after everything that happened. But there she is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Once again here's another fic I started ages ago but only recently finished...IDK if I like this or not. Well I like the fic, definitely, but I'd also like to work on other things brain...
> 
> Title comes from the poem "The Uses of Sorrow" by Mary Oliver: Someone I loved once gave me/ a box full of darkness./ It took me years to understand/ that this, too, was a gift. 
> 
>  
> 
> Despite it being part of a series, it can be read on it’s own.

When he answers the door he’s surprised to find Lydia standing on the other side, he didn’t even realize she knew where he lived. “To what do I owe this honor?”

She’s jittery, anxious, not uncomfortable but strained. Too many tragedies piling up, one atop the other, most likely. “You did something to me,” her tone is flat, and he finds that disturbing above all else.

He steps aside and gestures for her to enter; slowly she walks past him, and he catches a strange noseful of blank, and into the living room. When he closes the door her scent starts filling up his apartment and the blandness of it feels like claws to the gut, he has to bite his cheek to keep from growling. Just last week she was perfect, brave and strong and standing up to him in a way no one else had before; but now, now she’s just a mess.

Just as slowly as she had he walks over and sits on the couch, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Now why would you think I did something to you Lydia? Besides the obvious.”

For a few moments her movements are jerky and harsh as her hands rise up to rest on her breastbone. “There’s something here Peter, it’s inside me eating everything up,” her voice breaks, “and it won’t even let me cry.”

The instinct to stand and embrace her nearly knocks him back with its intensity and he just barely manages to resist. Instead he forces himself to breath. “I fail to see what the problem is.”

At least his feigned indifference gets him an emotion other than apathy, beautiful sparks of anger quickly spiking her scent. “It’s a problem because my best friend and boyfriend died and I can’t even mourn properly.”

Now he stands and he can feel his claws biting into his palms in an attempt to stop him from doing anything else. “There’s no such thing as ‘proper’ when one mourns Lydia. Just because you can’t cry on demand doesn’t mean you’re a heartless bitch, and anyone who’s telling you otherwise should be eviscerated.”

She visibly flinches and he’s willing to bet someone has tried to tear her down with her apparent apathy. “Despite what you think, I didn’t leave anything in you that you didn’t ask for at the time.” She has such a pretty blush. “Nor did I do anything to you outside of my resurrection persuasions; whatever is happening to you is you and you alone, and you’re just going to have to be mature enough to deal with it.”

The slap takes him completely unawares, although it shouldn’t; it barely stings him, but he can see Lydia shaking her hand to stop it from smarting.

Returning her favor in reverse he’s at her side in an instant, taking her hand between his own and leaching the pain away. “Feeling better now? Or are you going to be a masochist and try again?”

She shakes her head, though he’s not sure which question she’s answering. “I just want to be normal again,” her tone is both plaintive and accusing.

Peter finds himself sighing, then finally gives in and embraces her; her little shiver of surprise satisfies him in a way he didn’t expect. “I won’t give you any of the usual platitudal clichés, only point out that trying to be normal has caused quite a few of the problems we’ve faced.”

She gives a huff of laughter and buries her face in his shirt. He starts to pull away in surprise, but her own arms come up and encircle him pulling him back. “Will you just hold me, please?”

He decides since he’s given in this much he might as well go whole hog and scooping her up carries her to his bedroom. Gently he slips her shoes off before setting her on his bed. Quickly he takes off his own shoes and belt before joining her.

Lydia curls into him like a hypothermic seeking warmth and he lets his arms wrap around her pulling her even closer.

Moments later the smell of salt fills the air and he can feel her shoulders begin to shake and his shirt beginning to dampen. He says nothing and lets her cry herself to sleep.

Hours later he reluctantly falls asleep himself.

-

 _Ooga-chaka ooga-ooga ooga-chaka ooga-ooga_.

With a groan Peter’s hand flies out and slaps his phone. As he brings it to his ear he runs a soothing hand down Lydia’s back when she mutters at his moving. “Mmm’llo?”

“Have you seen Lydia?” Derek’s such a morning person.

His jaw pops as he yawns. “You’re in luck Derek, I’m looking at her right now.”

Apparently satisfied with that Derek grunts and hangs up. Peter stares at his phone for a moment. “And good morning to you too Derek,” he snarks before tossing his phone back onto the nightstand.

He feels more than hears Lydia’s sigh against his neck. “I guess that means I should go.”

Leaning down a little he nuzzles the hair at her temple. “Not unless you want to my deer. Derek will only tell Scott you’re safe and nothing more.”

“Not your ‘deer’” she mutters into his shoulder.

A quiet huff escapes him. “Well you’re certainly my something, especially if this keeps up.”

He curses himself for the slip when he feels Lydia stiffen beside him, before pulling away completely. As he listens to her footsteps leave the room he thumps his head against the headboard.

After a few minutes, when he never hears the front door and realizes that she left her shoes, he gets up and follows her. Finding her standing in front of the bay window, her arms embracing herself. She doesn’t react in any way when he comes up behind her and loosely wraps his arms around her waist. He doesn’t say anything, just lets Lydia work through whatever’s bothering her.

“Why do you trust me?”

The question takes him aback, while he knew she’d have questions he didn’t expect that to be the first one, or for her to even think of it at all. But he gives the question it’s due and thinks long and hard about his answer, after last night she deserves nothing but the truth. “Because,” instinctively his arms tighten around her, trying to prevent an escape that isn’t happening.

“You’ve been surprisingly fair and honest with me. And,” his voice drops to a whisper, but in a way this is sacred. “Because you know me better than anyone Lydia. You’ve seen my very soul.”

Her scent turns bewildered and confused. “What?”

He lets go of her and retreats to the kitchen. “You’re intelligent Lydia, do I really have to spell it out for you?” He manages to keep his tone cool and a little jeering, grateful that her nose won’t pick up anything like a wolf’s would.

“Those times when you were younger...” It’s somewhere between a question and a statement; and though he hates it at least she’s putting her intellect to actual use. “Were you lying?”

He start boiling water for tea, much like him Lydia’s not a coffee person. “What do you think?”

“Don’t deflect Peter, it’s poor sportsmanship.” And there’s her wondrous biting wit. She’s lingering in the entrance to the kitchen, though there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. He starts pulling down the bags of loose leaf tea from their shelf. “Assam.” Her smile turns a little surprised by her outburst.

But a smile twitches at his own lips now. “Ceylon.” Though on bad days she drinks Earl Gray. “If you answer my question I’ll answer yours.”

She finally comes in, sitting down in the tiny breakfast nook. “I’m fairly certain that my answer will influence your answer.”

With a smooth movement he pours the boiling water into mugs before setting the tea strainers in to steep. “And yet the reverse is also true by that logic. So we are at an impasse.”

Her hands curl around the mug when he hands it to her, bringing it to her face she closes her eyes and inhales. Moments later she's setting her mug down and pulling out the strainer, letting the tea inside drain into the mug before setting it aside. “You weren't lying. Liars tell stories, not specifics. 'drawn to cute but narcissistic girls' is a specific.”

A small sound of amusement escapes him. “True,” he agrees. “Although not exactly something one puts in a dating profile,” it’s a poor attempt at keeping some distance, but a small part of him is desperately clinging to his current solitary state and refuses to even entertain the idea of a connection.

Lydia doesn’t respond right away, her eyes watching the ripples her breath makes in her tea. “Why? Why terrify _and_ try to seduce me?” Clever woman, asking just the right questions. Even if he’s not sure _he_ wants to know the answers.

The tea might still be too hot for her, but he can stand the hotter temperature and takes a sip to give himself time. He either gives her the truth or doesn’t answer. Either response is likely to drive her away, although one more than the other. And at least both would get some emotion from her; although she’s already more…’emotional’ this morning than she’d been yesterday.

The part of him that demands he remain alone wants him to say nothing, life has fucked him up far too much to be anything but conniving and cruel, and Lydia certainly doesn’t deserve that.

The rest of him just thinks he’s afraid.

“Terror and arousal are the two strongest…”

Lydia snorts, interrupting him. “I know _that_ Peter.”

Something like a smile ticks at his mouth. “Well, I wanted to hedge my bets, if I couldn’t get what I wanted out of you through fear, perhaps I could get it through desire.” Cruel and conniving, but the truth.

She makes a small sounds and takes her own drink of tea. “So it was just another ploy? It didn’t mean anything?” There she goes again, asking just the right questions to get far more out of him than he thinks he’d rather like to give. But as always, she’s become the exception to so many of his rules.

“At first,” he agrees. “But then at the house…” he drifts off, not quite willing yet to admit more. Admit that her soft hesitant kiss pulled him in more than he’d meant it to, that out of fear of losing his drive for revenge he’d abandoned seduction for terror wholecloth. And yet it had still ended in a questionable one night stand.

But Lydia is a banshee, no matter what _he_ wants the universe will give her what it will. “Oh,” soft surprise fills her voice and it drives into his heart like a knife.

He needs, he needs. Setting his tea down he leaves; he needs to get away from her. Her and the gentle-sharp way she worms into his heart making him question everything. Away from her all-knowing banshee-ness. Away.

He’s in the bedroom before she calls out. “Peter?” It’s not quite confusion in her voice. She sets her mug down on the counter and starts to follow, the sound of it like gunshot to him at the moment. Not really thinking Peter veers from his closet to the bathroom, closing the door and locking it.

The cold tile of the shower is a shock as he tucks himself into one of its corners.

“Peter?” Lydia’s right outside the door, her regular heartbeat catches him off guard, he expects her to be hurt or surprised, or any number of things. But when has Lydia ever conformed to his expectations?

He doesn’t answer, his own heart is beating like a rabbit. He hates her, hates the way she makes him feel, how she makes him want to be alive again. Yet he hates himself the most perhaps.

A soft sigh just reaches his ears. “I think I’d better head home now.” A long pause. “Thank you, for the tea, and for last night.” Blessed be, but those words are followed by her footsteps, and moments later the sound of his front door opening and closing.

Closing his eyes he takes deep breaths and leans his head back into the tile. The whole of him is at war with itself and he’s not sure which side he wants to win.

**Author's Note:**

> For now I'm going to keep this series incomplete, since I've got a post s4 fic percolating somewhere in my mind, however don't expect anything new for a long while...
> 
> (and yes I totes made Peter's ringtone "Hooked on a Feeling"...)


End file.
